“Eric?” Freya prompts him.
He glances up, chewing slowly, eyes wide, and gaze shifting to me as he swallows. “Um … do you want me to participate or just listen?”
I smile and bat my eyelashes at him. “Participate of course.”
A tiny crease forms along the bridge of his nose and his eyes narrow a fraction. It’s … weird.
“Just say it. There’s no right or wrong.” Freya verbally nudges him again.
Well … I wouldn’t go so far as to say there’s no right or wrong.
“Okay um …” He tips his chin and focuses on his wine glass as he swirls it. “Self-indulgent.”
No one responds. Not that they need to respond. The one-word impressions don’t require responses or explanation. They’re just a great way to set the tone for the rest of the discussion.
“Okay … so … what’s the next question on your list?” Freya snags my book and the sticky notes with questions stuck to the cover.
“The characters are self-indulgent? Like emotionally or sexually? Or the writing is self-indulgent?” I ask.
Eric dips a baby carrot in dressing and glances up at me as he pops it into his mouth. “Uh … is one more acceptable to you?”
My jaw drops and I cough on my reaction, which is something between a gasp and an “uh.”
“Moving on. Do you think the accelerated pace of Jasmine’s and Andrew’s relationship is based on attraction or fear?” Freya reads my question.
I don’t even hear the other answers. The word self-indulgent rings too loudly in my head. The way Eric won’t look at me because he’s a coward, who just came for the free food and wine, keeping his head bowed and his mouth full.
“Breathe …” Freya whispers in my ear. “Get your shit together.”
After draining my full glass of wine, I find a smile for everyone except Eric.
I ask questions.
I share my thoughts.
I nod politely at everyone’s opinions.
That’s what you do in book club.
After the final thought is shared and everyone is assigned the last third of the book for next month, I get to work on cleaning up the mess. Eric sticks around to help, but keeps a safe distance. I guess it means he’s not one hundred percent stupid, but he’s still one hundred percent a dick.
Even Freya remains quiet, shooting me the occasional cringe as Mr. Helpful refuses to just leave.
“I’m going to take the bottles downstairs. Will you be okay?” Freya asks.
I return a slight nod while wiping down the tables.
“So just to be clear … you want me to read the book but not have an opinion that’s not the same as yours? Why didn’t you just say that?”
My back straightens before I whip around to face him. “What was that last night? Were you mocking the book by doing exactly what the characters did in the book?”
“Oh, Anna … I wasn’t mocking anything last night.” He reaches for my face and I bat him away.
“So you just liked the scene?”
He furrows his brow. “The scene last night or the one in the book?”
“The book!”
“Well, I like what it inspired.”
“Is that what you thought was self-indulgent?”
He chuckles, shaking his head. “You’re quite the piece of work. I have never seen someone get so worked up over fiction. Remind me to never watch a movie with you, or like blue if you like red, or choose the wrong topping on a pizza, or…” he slaps his forehead with the heel of his hand “…have an opinion that’s my own.”
“Why? Why play that game last night?”
Planting his hands on his hips, he lifts his gaze to the sky. “I …” He shakes his head. “I honestly didn’t think you would go there with me. It started out as a joke.” He returns his attention to me. “I thought we’d laugh about it. It blew my mind that you not only latched on to my lead … you took it. You wanted to be those characters.”
Crossing my arms over my chest and flipping out my hip, I squint at him. “You could have stopped it.”
“I wanted you anyway I could get you. I’m not saying the sex scene—and what we reenacted last night—wasn’t hot. It was. It was hot as fuck. You were hot. Not Jasmine. Not Andrew. Who were you having sex with last night? Me? Or Andrew?”
I piece together my words without completely exposing myself. “You. I was having sex with my neighbor, Eric, who I thought liked what he’d read … who I thought liked my favorite book.”
“I like you.” He grabs my face before I can step back or stop him from getting a firm hold on me. “I like your passion for books. I like your passion for life. Your smile that you just can’t seem to hide from me. The way you look at me like you’re always two seconds away from attacking me. I like that you’d rather walk in the rain than take an Uber. I like that you shut off the shower in the middle of a blow job because you’re worried about wasting water. I swear your lips were turning blue by the time I …” he bites his lips together.